Forgive
by screw-reason-give-me-anime
Summary: Feliciano Vargas has passed, saving his friend's lives in the process, but that doesn't mean everyone's proud. Lovino-centric fic. Rated T because of Lovino's language usage. Slight HetaOni references, but not super important. Human names used.


Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia otherwise, I'd be rich. Since this has not happened, it's safe to conclude that I don't own.

Lovino Vargas, better known as South Italy stood in front of his brother's grave. He stared down as they lowered the half-finished casket into the ground. Only half was painted with bright flowers in the colors of the Italian flag. Lovino hated that it was only half-finished, because as much as this sucked, the fact that Feliciano hadn't meant to die stung the most. He wanted to yell and curse at the headstone as if it was its fault that they were in this mess. He wanted to rage and stomp like he had two nights ago, when he first heard. He wanted to be angry like when he had kicked everyone out except Antonio and yelled himself hoarse for two hours.

But looking down at his brother's grave, he felt nothing but sadness. He wasn't good with sadness; he dealt with anger better, so he started to curse. Better be angry than to cry.

"Bastard," he whispered, tears threating to slide, voice breaking. "You idiota pasta-loving bastard, you left me damn it, you left me you asshole." And then the real tears fell and he stood there, shaking with the force of his tears.

The headstone didn't reply.

"Veneziano, you idiota, I can't believe you." Lovino felt his words waver and catch in his throat.

The realization hit him hard. He would never have fights with his brother again. They would never wake the neighbors with their arguments. Lovino would never get to glare at Feliciano as he clung to his arm. They'd never get to watch scary movies together in an attempt to become braver, and they'd never get to make the Potato Bastard's dinner together like Feliciano wanted to. They'd never because his brother, his fratello, was dead.

"Damn it Feliciano out of all the times to stop being a cowardly white-flag waving idiota, why then? Why when it cost everything?"

_ You know I'm not strong enough. _Lovino thought. _That's why there were two Italys in the first place. I can't inspire our people like you did. I can't make beautiful art or cook like you could! There were two Italys because I need you. Fratello, I need you, I might enjoy making you mad. And maybe I'm a kill-joy like you said when no one else was around. But ti amo, fratello. I love you; my life won't be the same. _

Lovino kicked the ground harshly, cringing as his foot protested_._ However he continued glaring at the headstone.

Footsteps echoed and he turned. Ludwig was approaching, Lovino felt his mind-numbing sorrow change instantly to rage, and it was all directed at him. Ludwig had been Feliciano's best friend. They had been a strange team, balanced in the strangest way possible. The thought of his deceased brother cracked the edges of his angry facade and Lovino felt it slip. Had, been, could, did, all past tense, a subtle but persistent reminder that Feliciano wasn't ever coming back.

Lovino bowed his head, the tears visible on his tan and slender face. "Potato Bastard," he managed through his watery tears.

"Romano," Ludwig said. "This is it, huh?" he asked the headstone.

Lovino thought he had misheard him, because, damn it, it sounded like the stern German man was crying. Ludwig never cried. Heck, the man had watched the Titanic with unmoving eyes.

"You still owe me," the German said. "I said I'd make you run laps if you died. Well Feliciano, you better start running," his voice was surprisingly soft. "He wouldn't want this."

"What wouldn't he want Potato Bastard? Being six feet under? No BS Sherlock, no one wants that."

"Ja, well, that too. Feliciano wouldn't want us to fight. He cared very much for you Romano. You were his older brother and no matter how much you fought there was always a bit of him that was your awed little brother.

Lovino felt the water trickle. "I know, but he left me, he clearly didn't care enough for me. Otherwise, he wouldn't have left the idiota," Lovino protested childishly.

Ludwig did not answer but only focused on the headstone some more. He reached behind his back and pulled a bundle of red and white flowers out. He bent and placed them by the grave. "For you Veneziano, rest in peace, rest in peace my friend," Ludwig paused reflecting on words he wanted to say. "Find peace too, Romano. What happened cannot change, but he will not rest peacefully knowing his fratello is angry at him," the Italian word sounded strange coming from the German man's mouth, but in the strangest way it seemed right. It fit his deceased brother's personality perfectly, trying to teach Italian to the native German man when the two languages were so different, German, sharper and harsher than the flowery fluidness of Italian.

Lovino blinked back more tears; it seemed to him that he had been crying for two days straight now. "I know," he whispered, staring at the carved words. "I know," he heard Ludwig's steps fade, growing softer as the man retreated. "I-I forgive you brother," Lovino said, he paused hearing his voice, too soft, too fake. He tried again, this time taking a deep breath. "I forgive you Veneziano for everything. For running away all those times. For making me feel small and unloved, even though you never meant to. I forgive you for all those headaches you gave me and for leaving me, dying when I needed you the most. But more than that, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't, I wasn't the big brother you needed most of the time. I'm sorry I shook you off when you hugged me and called you rude names. I'm sorry I never told you how I felt and only fought with you. I'm sorry I yelled. And-and Veneziano, I'm sorry I said I hated you, I really don't," Lovino took a shaky breath. "I hope you can forgive me," Lovino nodded, adding his own flowers to the red and white ones from Ludwig. "I hope you forgive me," he smiled softly and walked away, looking back only once.

As he left he thought he heard a familiar voice whisper throughout the air, "I forgive you, Romano."

**Translations:**

**Fratello-Brother **

**Idiota- Moron/Idiot**

**A/N: So this is my first time writing as Lovino. I'd like to know how you think I did. Please tell me. Thanks, hasta la pasta!**


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